Night lays blue bars across the stars
It fills the hills with darker dark
No color taunts our gaze with wants
Its solitude sterile and stark
The heart has eyes; when daylight dies
And lies beneath dusk’s epitaph
Ah, then the dreamer dreams his dreams
He needs no stars to light this path
There is no near or far, my dear
Where thought is a chariot of fire
The human soul naught can console
Save that of relinquished desire
The air is deep with cots of sleep
But sleep is for weary and wise
The dreamer dips his fingertips
Into the ink of starless skies
...and there he wills from nocturne quills
Whispers wafting on onyx reels
But what he knows cannot compose
The utterance of all he feels
© Janet Martin
